The Stone Monkey

in yesterday, the kid—who’d identified himself only as Chen—finished his conversation on a tiny Nokia phone and clipped the unit back onto his belt. He made a point of checking the time on his gold Rolex.
    “What happened to the gun we sold you yesterday?” he asked in English.
    “My father found it.”
    “Asshole.” He leaned forward ominously. “You didn’t tell him where you got it?”
    “No.”
    “If you told anyone about us we’ll kill you.”
    William Chang, hardened by his life as a dissident’s son, knew not to give an inch with people like this. “I didn’t fucking tell anybody anything. But I need another gun.”
    “He’ll find that one too.”
    “No, he won’t. I’ll keep it with me. He won’t frisk me.”
    Chen eyed a long-haired Chinese girl nearby. When he saw she was reading what seemed to be a college textbook he lost interest. He looked William up and down and then asked, “Hey, you want a DVD player? A Toshiba. It’s sweet. Two hundred. A flat-screen TV? Eight hundred.”
    “I want a gun. That’s all I want.”
    “And why don’t you get some better clothes. You look like shit.”
    “I’ll get clothes later.”
    “Hugo Boss, Armani. I can get you whatever you want . . . . ” Sipping the coffee, he studied William closely. “Or you can come with us some night. We’re going to a warehouse in Queens next week. They’re getting a shipment in. Can you drive?”
    “Yeah, I can drive.” William looked out the front window. He saw no sign of his father.
    The ba-tu asked, “You got balls, don’t you?”
    “I guess.”
    “Your triad hijack anything in Fujian?”
    William didn’t exactly have a triad, just some friends who would occasionally steal cars and shoplift liquor and cigarettes from time to time.
    “Hell, we hit dozens of places.”
    “What was your job?”
    “Lookout, getaway.”
    Chen thought for a moment then asked, “Okay, we’re inside a warehouse and you’re on guard, you know. You see a security guard coming toward us. What would you do? Would you kill him?”
    “What is this, a fucking test?”
    “Just answer. You have the balls to kill him?”
    “Sure. But I wouldn’t.”
    “Why not?”
    William sneered. “Because only an idiot would get executed over some clothes.”
    “Who said clothes?”
    “You did,” William replied. “Armani, Boss.”
    “Well, there’s a guard. Answer me. What the fuck would you do?”
    “I’d come up behind him, take his gun away and I’d keep him on his belly till you had all the clothes in the getaway wheels. Then I’d piss on him.”
    Chen frowned. “Piss on him? Why?”
    “Because the first thing he’d do was go change his clothes—before he called the police. So the cops wouldn’t think he’d peed his pants. That’d give us time to get away. And he never got hurt so the cops couldn’t get us for assault.”
    This is what William had heard that some gang by the waterfront near Fuzhou had done once.
    Chen wouldn’t allow himself to be impressed. But he said, “You’ll come to Queens with us. I’ll meet you here tomorrow night. I’ll bring some people.”
    “I’ll see. I have to get back now. My father’ll notice I’m gone.” He took a wad of dollars from his pocket, flashed it at the ba-tu . “What do you have?”
    “I sold you the only good one I had,” Chen said. “That chrome baby.”
    “It was a piece of shit. I want a real gun.”
    “You do have balls. But you got a mouth too. You better watch it. All I’ve got is a Colt .38. Take it or leave it.”
    “Loaded?”
    Chen fiddled with the gun inside the bag.
    “Three rounds.”
    “That’s all?” William asked.
    “Like I said—take it or leave it.”
    “How much?”
    “Five hundred.”
    William laughed harshly. “Three or I walk.”
    Chen hesitated then nodded. “Only ’cause I like you.”
    Both young men glanced around the Starbucks. The bag was exchanged for the money.
    Without a word William rose. Chen said, “Tomorrow. Eight. Here.”
    “I’ll try.”
    Chen laughed. “‘Piss on him.’” He turned back to his coffee.
    Outside, William started quickly down the sidewalk away from Starbucks.
    The figure stepped out of the alley, moving quickly toward him.
    William stopped, startled. Sam Chang walked up to his son.
    The boy started walking again, fast, head down.
    “Well?” Chang asked, falling into place beside the boy.
    “I got it, Baba.”
    “Give it to me,” his father said.
    He passed his